PS 1516 
.D25C5 





v 




ST. A'OCH'S CHAPEL. 



A Christmas Masque ot Saint Roch 

Pere Dagobert 



and 



Throwing the Wanga 

/)afi3, Moll It Bu^li^h Hoor^ 



BY 



M. E. M. DAVIS 

Authorof** Under the Man-Fig,'^ "In War Times," "At La 
Rose Blanche,'" "Alindiny the Gap," Etc. 




CHICAGO 
A. C. McCLURG AND COMPANY 

1896 



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COrVRIGHl 



By M. E. M. pa vis 

1896 



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CONTENTS. 

Page. 

A Christmas Masque ot Saint Rocli . . 9 

Pere Dagobert . . . . . -37 

Throwing the Wanga .... 47 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF 
SAINT ROCH. 



i 



i 




ST. ROCHES CHAPEL. 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. 

ROCH.^^ 

A small Gothic Chapel set in the midst of a 
burying ground., on the outskirts of a city. 

I. 

AT DAWN. 

The Bell, from an ivied niche beneath the sur- 
mounting cross of the facade : 

Christ is born, is born! 
And o'er the teeming City yonder, lo 
A star — the foretorch of the sluinberin<r sun — 
Shines palely bright! And guided by its rays, 
A thousand little feet go pattering, bare 
And white across the floors. And rnother-e3'es 
A- watch, brim o'er with happy tears 
Because The Child at Bethlehem is born! 



'^See "Notes,'" page 57. 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

Chorus of Dead People : 

But we, with stone and sod upon our breasts? 
But we, sealed in these narrow niches ? We, 
Shut in these stately vaults ? — 

Semi- Chorus of Dead Chi/dren : 

Our babv-feet 
Are wrapped in cere-cloths, so we cannot walkl 

Semi- Chorus of Dead People : 

Our eyes beneath our coffin-lids are dry I 
We have forgot the happy tears we shed 
(Or ere we died) because The Child was born I 

Chorus : 

Ah we, with these great stones upon our breasts f 
I'he effigy of St. Rock above the altar /// the 
Chapel. 

Christ is born, is born! 
{Dreamily) I mind me of the skies in Languedoc. 
How blue they were at Noel-tide! And I~ 
A little lad marked by His cross from birth — 



lO 



A CHRISTMAS MASOUE OF ST. ROCH. 
(But heeding naught of that!) so danced and 



sang 



Along those old Montpelian streets, that maids 
With ofolden hair came out to see! 

And then, 
The Gift upon me came, by God, His grace, 
And I did heal men of the plague. 

So sirs, 
By God, His grace, the painters painted me 
Upon their church-walls — Guido, and Rubens, 
And Titian ; so, on window-panes in gold 
And red I stand, and with me my good dog! 
— Nay, God have mercv lest I praise myself! 
Lord, heal the sick and ease the broken heart 1 



1 1 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 



II. 

MID- MORN. AT THE (JATE. 

Alphonse, the sexto?;, a ^rcy-bearded man, sits 
i)>i a 7ude bench by the gateway. A small table 
before him is heaped with tallow-candles and tin 
candle-sticks. Many people entering and passing 
on to the Chapel. Beggars and children crowded 
about the entrance. 

The Sexton, to himself: 

Christ's mercv, what a sunny day! My wil- 
low-trees rejoice as if 'twere spring. Candles, 
M'sieu ? [to a cynic zvho pauses at the gate.) 

Cynic : 
Candles I What should I do with candles ! 

Sexton : 

1 beg your pardon, M'sieu ; 1 thought — St. 
Roch — 

12 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

Cynic : 
'Tis not your business, man, to think. Stick 
to your trade of turning people under ground ; 
and let your wooden Saint in yonder Cliapel 
mind his — of getting husbands for a pack of 
silly girls to flatter, to deceive, aye, and to wring 
their hearts — if such lack-witted, blubbering 
slaves dwell in their vapid breasts! {he passes 
ivtlhi/i the ^ateivay^ 

A mother with two cJiildren, one a cripple in 

her arms: 

Give me some candles, sexton, quick. They 
should have burned an inch or more ere now! 

Sexton : 
How many, Madame ? 

The Mother: 

My little Lame-foot here is six years old 
today. A Christmas-gift he was to us ! So, 
six small flames about the altar's base shall 
burn for him. 

13 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

The Cripple: 

And when thev've burned, dear mother, will 

I walk ? 

The Mother: 

Yes, truly, if we pray aright, my child. 

The Other Child: 

Oh, let us hurry on to pray I 1 long to see 
my brother run. Then he can catch the butter- 
flies which tease me so, and flutter high above 
mv reach. {They pass oh.) 

A Blind Midi, led: 

I'll burn no candles for the Saint this day I 

If he can't cure me for the one I i^ave last 

year, why let him beat his dog, I say, and 

send him forth to bet^. He'll never cheat me 
of another cent. {He passes on.) 

A Child, shouting: 
Sand I Sand 1 Here's your nice white sand 
to strew upon your graves! Who'll buy fresh 
sand ? 

14 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

A Bcggar-icomaii, to passers-by, whinijig : 
Charite ! Charite, s'il vous plait I 

A Oiic-h'gged Negro Man, to passers-hx. in a 
u >h eedting voiee : 

1 knows my pretty young Mistiss is gwine ter 

give nie a nickel ! . . . 1 knows mv fine 

young genternian is gwine ter give dis po' ole 

nigger a dime I . . Ko' de Lawd, Marse, 

I'se s^ot sebenteen chillen an' i^ran' chillen at 

home, wi' dey mouf sot fer Chrismus dinner I 

Denise Durand, a Young Girl : 

Yes, give me ten candles, Alphonse. {She 
passes on, munnuring:) Five candles for myself 
— that 1 mav win him back atj;ain : and five for 
him — that he may suffer none, nor know no 
ill of any kind. . . No, eight for him, and 
two for me. . . Nay, all for him I So he mav 
walk in sunshine, though 1 brave the storm ! 

A Ragged Little Girl, gazing after her : 

My ! Ain't she sweet ! Fm her ! 

15 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

Second Ragged Little Girl, who carries a baby- 
si ster in her arms : 

Mais non / Since one year, me, I 'ave choose 
Ma'rnselle Denise. She's me ! 

First Ragged Little Girl : 
You sha'n't have her I She's me I 

Second Ragged Little Girl : 
Mais non ! I'm 'er ! I'm 'er I 

A Man with a child' s coffin in his arms : 

Where shall I put this little scrap? It barely 
lived to draw one breath. 'Tis not much 
matter where it lies. 

Sexton ; they speak in French : 

Nay, lad, the veriest sparrow hath a value in 

His eyes! Yonder, in the clover-bed, in 

shadow of a flying buttress of the Chapel, where 

the wind is never rough, — go dig a nest there 

for the little thing. Perchance some mother 

buried near may hear it if it wake and cry at 

1 6 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

night, and so will rise and comfort it. {^The 
ma?i passes on.) 

Gordon Leslie, a Young Man : 

Is this the chapel called St. Roch ? where 
folks are wont to come to pray? 

Sexton : 
Yes, M'sieu. 

Leslie : 

Ah — oh — 'tis a custom here, I'm told, to 

burn some candles when one prays for — for 

what one wants ? 

Sexton : 

Mais certainenient, M'sieu. If M'sieu will pass 
at the Chapel, he will see those candle burning 
now. But, on St. Joseph's day, or on Good 
Friday, thass the time ! del I how the eye is. 
dazzle' with those candle on St. Joseph's day I 

Leslie : 

Ah, I'll take some candles then, for custom's 
sake. 

17 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

Sexto?/ : 
How many, M'sieu ? 

Leslie : 

Fifty {the sexto?/ stares). Oh, 1 meant twenty- 
five {hurriedly redele?/i//g). Give me the usual 
number. {The sexto?/ gives hi??i th?-ee ea?/dles 
/// flat ca?/dle-stieks. He holds these awk7va?dly 
as he passes o?/.) 

A Sewi/tg lVo??ia?/, 7'e?y shabbily di-essed : 

Two candles, sexton, \\ you please. {She 
passes 0?/.) 

Begga?'W07?ia?/ follows he?- ivhi?/i?/g: 
Charite, Madame, Charite ! 

A Ragged Lad: 

1 don't want no candles, Mister. Fm goin' 
to set a minit on one o' them tombstones 
yonder. {He passes o?/.) 

iS 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

Child, shouting: 

Sand ! Sand ! Here's your nice sand to 
sprinkle on your graves! Your nice fresh 
sand ! 

A Man with a spade on his shoulder, sullenly : 

I s'pose I've got to dig the grave. It's hard 
a man can't spend his Christmas Day in peace. 
Why must the woman, devil take her ! die on 
Christmas eve? {He passes on.) 

Sexton, solus: 

Poor soul, to die on Christmas eve when all 
the world is joyous and alive ! Here's my 
last candle. It shall burn for her that she 
may rest in peace. 



19 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 



III. 

NOON. WITHIN THE CHAPEL. 

Many candles burning about the foot of the 
altar. The wooden effigy of St. Roch and his 
dog above. People kneeling. The walls are 
hung with votive offerings. 

Denise Duratid^ after her prayer^ watching 
her candles: 

Now, if the third candle from the end — the 
one that flares and flames as if an unseen 
spirit blew upon it — if that candle should 
burn out soonest, then I'll take it for a sign 
he did not mean the cruel things he said. 
But if the fifth one soonest sinks, why then 
I'll know he does not love me any more ! 

The Sewing Woman, after her prayer, watch- 
ing her candles : 

How fast they burn ! And yet, before the 

flames into the sockets sink and die, all will 

20 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

be ended for the child and me. One leap 
into the River, one cry from those dear baby- 
lips when over us close the turbid yellow 
waves, and then — no more fierce longings 
for the past, no shrinking from the future, no 
hunger more, nor cold, nor hard-eyed scorn 
for me or my child. 

The Blind Man : 
A cheating saint, a greedy glutton saint ! He'll 
never make me see, no not unless I burn a 
dozen candles to his wooden nose. But I'll not, 
that's flat. 

Leslie J putting down his candles: 
If those fellows at the Club could see me 
now ! Well, let them laugh, I care not, I . . 
. . . The good saint, wooden as he looks, 
knows what /want. I'll leave my candles and 
my wishes in his care. {He goes out.) 

The Mother, after her prayer, watching her 
crippled child: 

I think he's paler than he was ! My little 

21 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

braveling, ail thou cold ? Lean c lose to 
mother, little one. and make thv praver. thy- 
self, to Jesus that He niav lieal thee on thv 

birthday, and on His Oh God, my 

boy.' my hy : he s dead: Help: Help I 

The Other Child, frightened: 
And can mv brother run ? 

The Mother, wildly: 

Oh, he has win jlTs now, he can flv! Oh 
God, my child ! 

Child Outside shoutiug: 

Sand I here's your nice clean sand to strew 
upon your graves ! 



22 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 



IV. 

MID-AFTERNOON. BY THE SUN DIAL. 

hi fhe biiryin-^- ground by the chapel: many 
/ombs about ; a few people walkiir^ amo/i<^ the 
graves. A Sun Dial near the main footivay. 

The Cynic, reading the inscriptiofi on the dial : 
"I number but the shining hours.'* Well, 
precious little work you've got to do, you 
hoary, moss-grown dial, that's all I have to 
say. The shining hours in this world are as 
scarce as honesty in man, or truth and chas- 
tity in woman. Yet once I also thought — 
pshaw, no matter what I thought I {Sits down 
on a flat tombstone /tear the dial.) 

Leslie comes out of the chapel and leans on the 

dial. 

Leslie : 

'* I number but the shining: hours." Ah. those 

were shining hours indeed, when — Lord, what 

a fool a man can be I 



-a 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

Cy7iic : 

A very just observation indeed, my friend. 
But add, if men are fools, women in truth 
are worse than knaves, and so — 

Leslie, angrily : 
Sir, by what right — ? 

Denise, who has approached unperceived, from 
the chapel: 

Why, Gordon — Mr. Leslie! 

Leslie : 
Denise — Miss Durand ! You here ? 

Denise, smiling a little : 
Mr. Leslie — vou here? 

Leslie : 

Denise, forgive me! When I twitted you 

about your superstitions — your leaden Virgins 

and your small St. Josephs standing on their 

heads and — well — your wonderful St. Roch 

24 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

upon his altar here ; and these same twjttings 
led us on from sneer to counter-sneer, until 
we quarreled — 

Denise, internipti?ig : 
Then, you'll admit now — ? 

Leslie^ dubiously: 
Oh, as to that — 

Cynic, under his breath : 

Soho! the smothered fire breaks out afrain. 
Fools ! Well let it scorch them both, aye 
shrivel them to cinders ! 

Denise : 

Nay, Gordon let it pass. I will believe for 
both of us. But {curiously) what are you do- 
ing here ? 

Leslie, sheepishly : 

To tell the truth Denise, I've got three 
candles by the altar, there, alight — and all for 
you — that I might win you back again. 

25 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

Dciiise with rapture : 
Oh Gordon ! And I have ten alight — and 

all for you. 

Leslie, tenderly: 
Spendthrift! 

Beggar-woman, approaching : 

Charite, M'sieii! Charite, Ma'nisellel 
Merci, M'sieii et Madame la Mariee ! (^S7/^' goes 
away rattling Gordon's alms tn a tin box.) 

Gordon, looking after her : 
A prophetess, Denise, a prophetess ! 

The Sewing IVoman eomes out of the ehapel 
walki7ig hurriedly. The Cynic springing to his 
feet at sight of her : 

Margaret ! 

Sewing Woman : 
Philip! 

Philip, sneeringly, reseating himself: 
I find you somewhat shabby, Madam, con- 



sidering 



20 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

Margaret^ interrupting fiercely: 

Considerini( that night and day I drive the 

needle to ward off starvation from my child — 

and yours ! 

Pliilip : 

Ha, Colburn's money then is spent. Or stay, 

the story's old and threadbare, Madam, but 'tis 

short - and true. Will you hear it? 'I'he 

friend, we'll say, beguiles his friend's wife 

from her home ; then, wearying of her, casts 

her off. That's all. Oh, shame on him — a 

friend ; on vou — a wife! 

Margaret, l)e'wildered : 

Colburn . . . beguiles? Philip, what 

do you mean ? 

Philip: 

God ! She dares to ask me w hat i mean ! 

My home left desolate .... the man I 

trusted .... my wife and child . . 

Margaret, passionately : 
Who left it desolate, your home and mine?' 
Did 1 not wait there long and weary months- 

27 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

for your return ? For you, who left me to be 
gone a single day! No word to tell me why 
you had abandoned wife and child ; no tidings 
save one cruel line to say that we were hence- 
forth naught to you — your wife and child! 
And then I traced you step by step until I 
found you here, where for many weary months 
— too proud to beg your charity — I have 
fought hunger and despair — not for my own 
sake, but our child's. 

Philip, tre?nblirig : 

But the letter which you wrote .... 
which said that you and Colburn — 

Margaret, tur?ii}ig coldly away : 

I know nothing of such a letter : nor have I 
seen George Colburn since he left the house 
with you. The letters I have written you have 
come back to me — unopened. Oh shame on 
you, Philip, shame on the father of my child ! 

28 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

Leslie, interposing courteously : 
I beg your pardon sir. Do you speak of 
George Colburn of The Cedars. George Col- 
burn, who exposed the other day that villain 
and arch traitor, Allan Carr ? I chance to 
know — 

Philip, suddejily enlightened: 

Allan Carr ! why I remember now 't was he 
who brought me news of Margaret's flight with 
Colburn — and her letter. He who . . . . 
God forgive me for a dupe, a fool, a brute, an 
idiot! Margaret — ! 

Margaret, upon his breast sobbing : 
Oh, Philip ! 

The Sexton comes out of the chapel with the 
dead body of the little cripple in his arms. 
The mother follows, mute and anguished. 

The Other Child, querulously : 

But why does not my brother fly if he has 

wings ? You said he had wings, Mother. If I 

29 



A CHRISTxMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

had wings I'd fly to the top of yonder willow 
tree. {They pass on to the gate.) 

The Blind Man comes out of the chapel. Leslie 
and Philip drop some coins into his hat. 

The Blind Man : 

Lord bless you, gentlemen I I'd liefer hear 
the silver tinkling in my hat, and feel the 
smooth round quarters twixt my thumb and 
finger, any day, than see ! Now fetch me home, 
boy. (He passes on to the gate ^) 

The Ragged Lad, jiunping up with a half-sol) 
from the ground H'here he has been lying: 

1 wisht I hadn't run away from home. 'Taint 
no fun, nohow. I'm goin' back. I w-want to 
see my m-motherl {He passes o)i to the gate.) 

Child, shouting: 

Here's vour fresh sand! Here's vour last 
chance to buy some nice fresh sand! 

30 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

One-legged Negro, in tJie distance, shouting 
Iiistllv : 

I'm gwine home ter give dem sebenteen chil- 
len an' gran'chillen dey Chris'mus tu'key I 

Ragged Little Girl in the distance, crooning to 

Jicr baby -sister : 

"Fais dodo, Miiiette 1 
Trois p'ti cochons cle lait 
Endormez-moi cette enfant 
Jusqu' a I'age de quinze ans I 
Ouand quinze ans sera sonne, 
Nous irons la marier 
Avec joli 'ti Tintin, 
P'ti tils de not' voisin. 
Fais dodo, Minette 
Do — do." 

Margaret : 

Come, Pbili]), let us hasten to our child. 

i^They pass on. arm In arm, to the gate.) 

Denlse, reading the Inscription on the dial : 

"1 number but the shining hours." Nay, 

Gordon, all the hours are shiningi {They pass 

s?!, arm in arm, to the gate. ) 

31 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 



NIGHT. 

The Bell, from its ivied niche : 

Christ is born, is born! 
A yellow rim — the afterglow of day — 
Belts in the earth, as if a token-ring 
Of God were slipped about it for a sign 
Of peace and love. So belted, blessed Earth, 
Move on among the spheres, and add thy note 
Of joy to theirs because The Child is born! 

Cho7-us of Dead People : 

Sweet is our rest beneath the grassy sod! 
Secure our niches in the arching vaults. 
Where Pain nor Sorrow may pursue us more. 

Semi-chorus of Dead Children: 

We do not care to walk. Our little feet 
Are safe from all the thorny ways of life. 

32 



A CHRISTMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

The Baby in the grave by the Oiapel: 
But I'm afeard! 

The Woman who died on Christinas Eve : 

Is that a baby's voice? 
Mine arms do yearn for one I left behind! 
— I'm coming, little one; be not afraid! 

Chorus : 
'Tis sweet to rest for aye beneath the stones! 

The effigy of St. Roch in the Chapel: 

Christ is born, is born! 
{Dreamily). How soft the stars that shone on 

Languedoc! 
And so those bold Venetians stole 

my bones 
And from Montpelier, in a time of plague, 
Bore them away to Venice by the sea. 
And Doge and Senate welcomed them in state: 
And Tintoretto at San Rocco there, 

33 



A CHRISTxMAS MASQUE OF ST. ROCH. 

Did paint such wonders that the world stood 

still, 
And all for me, who healed him of the plague! 
— Nay, God forgive me! If I boast, forgive, 
For Thou alone hast power to heal, and Thou 
To ease the wounded heart; that so the world 
be blest! 
A whisper from above tJiat tlirills the air : 
The world be blest! 



s^ 



PERE DAGOBERT. 



PERE DAGOBERT.* 

None of your meagre, fasting, wild-eyed, spare 

Old friars was Father Daafobert! 

He paced the streets of the Vieux Carre 

In seventeen hundred and somewhat, gay, 

Rubicund, jovial, round and fat. 

He wore a worldly three-cornered hat 

On his shaven pate; he had silken hose 

To his ample legs; and he tickled his nose 

With snuff from a gold tabatiere. 

He listened with courtly, high-bred air 

To the soft-eyed penitentc who came — 

Kirtled lassie, or powdered dame — 

To kneel by the carved confessional 

And breathe in a whisper musical 

The deadliest sin she could recall. 



*See "Notes," page 38. 

37 



PERE DAGOBERT. 

La Nouvelle Orleans' self was young, 
When the Pere came over from France, a strong. 
Handsome, rollicking Capuchin brother. 
Poor as a mouse of the Church, his mother, 
With a voice like an angel's, sweet and clear. 
That saints and sinners rejoiced to hear. 
The town it had grown apace, and he 
For the goodly half of a century 
Had blessed its brides when the banns were said, 
And christened its babies and buried its dead; 
He had sipped the wines from its finest stores 
As he played at chess with its Governors ; 
And wherever a feast was forward, there 
Was a cover for Father Dagobert. 

In the midst of its fields of indigo 
Where the sleek, black negroes, row on row. 
Dug and delved for the brotherhood. 
The stately house of the Order stood ; 
And here at ease on their fine estate 
The Pere and his Capuchins slept and ate. 
And thrived and fattened for many a year, 
Ungrudged bv none of their royal cheer. 

38 



PERE DAGOBERT. 



II. 

But over the wall of this paradise 
One day the inquisitorial eyes 
Of the Spanish Padre Cirilo 
Gazed, horror-stricken! 

" Your (irace must know," 
He wrote with haste to the Order's head, 
"What shame by our Order here is spread; 
An idle, battening set, they dwell — 
Unmindful each of his cord and cell — 
In a galleried convent, tall and fair, 
Misgoverned by one named Dagobert 
(A bibulous Frenchman, gross and fat, 
Who wears a graceless three-cornered hat. 
And takes his snuff from a jeweled box). 
They have cunningly carven singing clocks 
In their refectory; when they dine 
They drink the best and the beadiest wine; 
They have silver spoons and forks — nay, more, 

39 



PERE DAGOBERT. 

They have special spoons for the cafe noir 
That clears their brains when the feast is o'er. 

''This Dagobert " (so the Padre said) 
Usurps the power of the Church's Head, 
And cares not a fior what Rome has wrousfht! 
The Santa Cruzada itself is naught: 
And thirty years it hath been, in full. 
Since Papal or Apostolic Bull 
Hath reached his flock; but the people fare 
Content to follow the singing Pere; 
For in truth he sings, and sings, alas! 
With a seraph's tongue at the daily mass." 

Further he told how this singing priest 
Forgot the fast and shifted the feast 
Of the Holv Church at his own good will, 
With the people blindly following still. 
He hinted at comely quadroons a-starc 
With bold black eyes at morning prayer 
In the convent chapel, or strolling, gay, 
Throuarh the convent halls at close of dav. 

o 

40 



PERE DAGOBERT. 

•" And the rascals grow daily richer! Your 

Grace" 
(He groaned) '* Must look to this godless 

place, 
And humble the head of this haughty friar! " 

His Grace was shocked. With a holv ire 

He sped his edict across the sea. 

But a wrathful Province heard the decree, 

And Governer, Alcalde, citizen staid, 

Riffraff, soldier, matron and maid, 

All swore nor Church, nor State should dare 

To rob them of Father DagobertI 

So back to Spain the Padre went. 

Humbled himself, and penitent. 

The Pere, unruffled, pursued his way. 

Disturbed nor vexed to his dying day; 

And the friars rejoiced to their convent's core, 

And slept and ate at their ease once more. 



41 



PERE DAGOBERT. 



III. 

Down in the weed-grown Cimetiere 

St. Louis reposes the worthy Pere; 

And they say, when the nights are warm and 

sweet, 
And stayed is the sound of passing feet, 
That he clambers down from his snug retreat 
In the crumbling vault, and up and down 
The narrow wnlks, in his fine serge gown 
And three-cornered hat, he makes his way. 
And sings as he goes, till the break of day; 
And the powdered dames of the old regime, 
And the pig-tail courtiers, all agleam 
With jewels and orders, come thronging out 
From tombs and vaults — a shadowy rout — 
To sit a-top of the mouldy stones 
That cover the common plebeian bones, 
And listen, all wrapped in a vapory mist; 
While the hands they have pressed, the lips 

they have kissed 

42 



PERE DAGOBERT. 

In the olden days, grow warm again, 
And the eyes whereon rusty coins have lain 
For a hundred years and more, grow bright 
With the deathless joys of a long-gone night. 

— A bell in Don Almonascer's tower 
By the old Place d' Amies rings out the hour 
Short in his canticle stops the Pere 
To cross himself and mutter a prayer; 
Then he climbs to his chilly resting-place 
And pulls his cope uj) over his face, 
And folds his hands in a patient way. 
And rests himself through the livelong day. 

The dames and courtiers slowly rise, 
Brushincr the dews from their softened eves, 
And courtesying grandly as they go, 
They pass along in a stately row; 
They pause at the door of their family tombs- 
Glancing askance at the inner glooms, 
And lifting a finger with slow demur — 
To say with that air of a coiiiioisseur 

43 



PERE DAGOBERT. 

That greeted a Manon, when she and thev 
Trod the stage of the vieiix carre^ 
'' Ma foi! 'tis a wondrous thing and rare, 
The singing of Father Dagobert!" 



44 



THROWING THE WANGA. 



THROWING THE WANGA.* 

ST. John's eve. 
Shrill over dark blue Pontchartrain 
It conies and goes, the weird refrain, 
Wanga ! wanga ! 

The trackless swamp is quick with cries 
Of noisome things that dip and rise 
On night- grown wings ; and in the deep. 
Dark pools the monstrous forms that sleep 
Inert by day uplift their heads. 
The zela flower its poison sheds 
Upon the warm and languorous air ; 
The lak-vine weat^es its noxious snare; 
The wide palmetto leaves are stirred 
By venomed breathings, faintly heard 
Across the still, star-lighted night. 



*See "Notes," page 5S. 

47 



THROWING THE WANGA. 

Her lonely spice-fed fire^ alight 
Upon the black sivanip'' s utmost rini^ 
Noiu spreads and flares^ now smoulders dim;- 
And at her feet they curl and break, 
The dark blue ivaters of the lake. 

Her arms are wild above her head — 
Old withered arms., whose charm has fled. 

" Zizi, Creole Zizi, 
You is slim an' straight ez a saplin' 

Dat grows by de bayou's aidge ; 
You is brown an' sleek ez a young Bob White 

Whar hides in de valler sedge. 

"Yo' eyes is black an' shiny, 

An' quick ez de lightnin' flash ; 
You wuz bawn in de time er freedom, 

An' never is felt de lash. 
— Me, I kin th'ow wanga ! " 



Her dusky face is wracked and seamed, 

an 
48 



That once like ebon marble gleamed. 



THROWING THE WANGA. 

Zizi, Creole Zizi, 
" You is spry on yo' foot ez de jay-bird 

Whar totes de debble his san'; 
You kin tole de buckra to yo' side 

By de turnin' o' yo' han'. 

*'Yo' ways is sweet ez de sugar 

You puts in yo' pralines. 
When de orange flower on de banquette 

draps, 

An' de pistache-nut is green. 
—Me, I kin th'ow wanga!" 

Her knotted shoulders.^ brown and bare^ 
The deathless sears of slavehood wear. 

" Zizi, Creole Zizi, 
You is crope lak a thieft to de do'-yard 

When de moon wuz shinin' hi2:h, 
An' you stole de ole man' heart erway 
Wid de laughin' in yo' eye. 

49 



THROWING THE WANGA. 

"My ole man! — de chillun's daddy! — 

We is hoed de cotton row 
An' shucked de corn-shuck side by side 

Fer forty year an' mo'! 

— Me, I kin th'ow wanga! " 

The fiames that leap about her feet 
Btan with a perfiune stra7ige and sweet. 

*' Zizi, Creole Zizi, 
Twis' yo'se'f in de coonjine 

Lak a moccasin in the slime; 
Twis' yo'se'f when de fiddle talks 

Fer de las' endurin' time. 

Den was'e ter de bone in de midnight, 

In de mawiiin' wa'se erway; 
Bu'n wid heat in de winter-time, 

An' shiver de hottes' day — 
Wanga! Wanga! 

" Onder yo' fla'ntin' tignoji 

De red-hot beetles crawl, 

Wid claws dat sco'ch inter de meat 

An' mek de blood draps fall! 

50 



THROWING THE WANGA. 

" Over yo' bed de screech-owl 
In de midnight screech an' cry! 

Den kiver yo' head, Creole Zizi — 
Den kiver yo' head an' die— 
Wanga! Wanga! " 

Hdr 7-oice is hushed^ she crouclies low 

Above the embers' flickering glow. 

The swaiiip-wind wakes^ and many a Ihing 

Unnamed flits by on furry 7£>ing; 

They brush her cheeks unfelt ; she hears 

The far-off songs of other years. 

Her eyes gro7V tender as she sways 
And croons above the dying blaze. 

" Oh, de cabin at de quarter in de old planta- 
tion days, 

Wid de garden patch behin' it an' de gode- 
vine by de do'. 
An' de do'-yard sot wid roses, whar de chil- 
lun runs and plays, 
An' de streak o' sunshine, yaller lak, er- 
slantin' on de flo'! 

51 



THROWING THE WANGA. 

"We wuz young an' lakly niggers when de ole 
man fotch me home. 
Ole Mis' she gin de weddin', an' young 
Mis' she dress de bride! 
He say he gwineter love me twel de time o' 
kingdom come, 
An' forty year an' uperds we is trabble side 
by side! 

" But ole Mars' wuz killed at Shiloh, an' young 
Mars' at Wilderness; 
Ole Mis' is in de graveyard, wid young 
Mis' by her side. 
An' all er we-alTs famblv is scattered eas' an' 
wes'. 
An' de gode-vine by de cabin do' an' de 
roses all has died! 

" My chillun they is scattered too, an' some is 
onder groun'. 
Hit wuz forty years an' uperds we is trab- 
ble, him an me! 



.■>- 



THROWING THE WANGA. 

Ole Mis', whar is de glory o' de freedom I 

is foun'? 
De ole man he is lef me fer de young eyes 

o' Zizi!" 

Her arms are wild above her head^ 
The softness from her voice has fled. 

" Zizi, Creole Zizi, 

Twis' yo'se'f in de coonjine 
Lak a moccasin in de slime; 

Kunjur de ole man wid vo' eye 
Fer de las' endurin' time! 

" Den cry an' mo'n in de mawnin', 

In de midnight mo'n an' cry, 
Twel de debble has you, han' an' foot, 

Den stretch yo'se'f an' die! — 
Wanga! Wanga! 



53 



NOTES. 



NOTES. 

ST. ROCH. 

St. Roch's Chapel : A famous mortuary shrine 
at New Orleans, much frequented by all classes of 
people. Candles are burned to ensure answer to 
prayer. 

St. Roch : A mediaeval saint born at Montpelier, 
France (1395). He is said to have come into the 
world with a small red cross on his breast. Died 
{1427). His bones were stolen by the Venetians 
during the plague of 1485, and carried from Mont- 
pelier to Venice. 

St. Roch is invoked in time of sickness. He is 
locally invested with extraordinary powers and sup- 
posed to be peculiarly potent in obtaining husbands 
for young women. St. Roch is always represented 
in company with his dog. 

The beautiful church of San Rocco at Venice, 
decorated by Tintoretto and his pupils, is dedicated 
to this saint. 

Small images of St. Joseph are sold at the 

57 



NOTES. 

chapel of St. Roch for charms. Vulgar supersti- 
tion declares that the saint is more efficacious if 
stood upon his head. 

PERE DAGOBERT. 

Pere Dagobekt was made Superior of the 
French Capuchins at New Orleans in 1766. For 
more than fifty years he continued to be the spiritual 
father of the Louisiana colonists. The story of his 
quarrel with Father Cirilo and the Spanish Capu- 
chins is amusingly told by Charles Gayarre in his 
History of Lotiisia)ia. 

THROWING THE WANGA. 

To throw the IVattga : French, Jeter le Wanga : 
to cast the Yodoo spell. 



.S8 



